


lucid

by Anonymous



Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Barry Oak’s A+ Parenting, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Dom/sub, M/M, No Aftercare, Praise Kink, this is dark but it’s more of a character study than a hit piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:59:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28206471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Glenn’s hand brushes his ear, fists his hair and forces his head back. “I know we don’t always agree, but I’m glad you saw to reason this time. I’m proud of you, Hen.”
Relationships: Glenn Close/Henry Oak
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14
Collections: Anonymous





	lucid

**Author's Note:**

> this is supposed to be a character study and then the nickname hen came in and it got away from me a little
> 
> basically Henry associating Glenn with his terrible dad makes him think about what a terrible dad he is. the abuse stirred up for Henry is not sexual in nature but becomes sexualized in this encounter. This is a look at the difficulty of reconciling trauma and sex, and what can happen when kink dynamics are under negotiated/ignored. 
> 
> this is an exorcism. please read with care. like fr if Barry upsets u like he upsets me uhhh. maybe skip this one!
> 
> so uh. Yeah. not quite a character study i might follow up w this idkkkk thots welcome LOL

Glenn is sober, which is maybe part of his discomfort with the situation.

The last person he had sober sex with was his wife. She was the only person he didn’t need to zone out on. With her, it was easy, it was sweet, and god was it good. 

But this is how Henry feels safe so he complies. Otherwise he’d be loaded up and trying not to think about anything. He’s itching out of his skin, trudging through trees the likes of which he’s never seen. 

He finds him in a small cleaning, deserted, shielded by the arching oaks around them. They need shade for this. It is appropriate. Atmospheric, even. 

He’s already on his knees, waiting, when Glenn moves to undo his belt. He typically goes commando and with one tug he’s out, stalking his length towards Henry’s lips. He pauses. 

“What are you waiting for? Warm me up.”

Without his mid-morning haze, he’s feeling especially irritable. 

“I was waiting for permission,” Henry explains, swatting the bait.

“At least you can do one thing right.” Another pause—testing the waters. Henry double blinks and Glenn takes that as his cue to keep going. “Open up.” Henry’s throat expands lewdly, sighing as his cock sinks in. 

God did it make him hard. He doesn’t want it to but it does. 

Glenn is more attentive than people give him credit for. He paid attention to the flex of Henry’s soft palette, lowering as he entered his mouth. He paid attention to the skewed out of breath sounds he made, which were so particular with his deviated septum. He paid attention to all the cues that pointed to this going too far. 

And it did. But Henry didn’t ever say stop. He put up the boundary for Glenn to push, it seemed. He was never that far over it so he didn’t worry about it. But Henry getting off on getting it rough was doing something to Glenn’s head. 

Henry’s a scientific man. He would understand Glenn conducting an experiment. 

Precum settles on back of his tongue, leaving a film as globs inch their way down his throat. “Good, that’s it... Good, good boy, Hen.”

He watches Henry’s shorts instantly tent, much to the shame on his cheeks. Glenn’s hand on the back of his neck turns soft, guiding. 

“Tongue on the underside. Yeah, just like that, Hen. Flatten it, relax—Aah. Ohhh. Huh. You learn quick.”

He moans some agreement, eyes sliding shut. He looks drunk, slack on Glenn’s dick, drinking in his dirty words. He scratches the back of his head like he would a pet, or the way he’d give his band mates affectionate noogies. 

There’s a conflicted twist to Henry’s brow that Glenn elects to ignore. It’s not his responsibility to police those lines. Henry can take care of himself. 

Sufficiently hard, Glenn slides his cock out of Henry’s mouth and into his waiting hand. He hears a whine of disappointment. He slicks himself up and gets to work, his stray fingers poking Henry’s lips and tongue. 

“You always need something in your mouth, don’t you? Yeah, that’s it, nice and relaxed. Breathe deep for me, Hen.”

Tears gather in the corner of his eyes and he mumbles, “Henry.”

“Come on, don’t try and slip that by me again. Not here. You’ll always be my little Hen.” While he says this, rocketing towards his climax, he plucks Henry’s glasses off his face. 

“Wh—wait, I need those.”

“Not for this part. You’ll just get them dirty.”

“I want to see—“

“Hen you aren’t going to see anything out of those glasses anyway, look how filthy they are.”

Glenn’s going to come, hard. Henry looks pained. He hasn’t stopped him hasn’t said it and Glenn’s thinking he needs to get there before Henry does. He wishes he was high. He doesn’t want to remember this. But how can he forget it?

“Yes,” he says weakly. 

“Yes what?”

“Daddy,” he blurts on a sob. “Yes, daddy, you’re right.”

“Good boy.” Glenn’s hand brushes his ear, fists his hair and forces his head back. “I know we aren’t always on the same page, but I’m glad you saw to reason this time. I’m proud of you, Hen.”

“Proud, I,” Henry rasps around Glenn’s calloused fingers. “Mmh.”

“Mmmmmh,” Glenn repeats, and with one filthy series of jerks, blows his load all over Henry’s face. The man is still, absorbing the hot shock of Glenn’s cum on his skin. The sunlight peeking through the trees catches the glint of his cheekbone and shuttered eyes, glowing green. Vines tickle his ankles, then give him something to hold onto as his whole body shakes through his orgasm. 

Henry stays still, blonde lashes bleached white, breathing heavily with his mouth. 

Glenn’s not even down from his high when he grits, “That’s not how I taught you.”

Henry sucks a whimper in through his nose and lets it rush from his mouth. Ten breaths later, his mouth is taut shut.

On breath eleven, Glenn is supposed to leave. He’s still watching Henry. 

He unties the bandana around his neck and kneels down to meet him. Henry is sunk on his knees and Glenn has his elbow pressed up on one of his own. 

Henry doesn’t stop him. Henry doesn’t say anything. 

Glenn’s count hits a full minute and he moves. Murmuring instruction, he wipes his greasy bandana all over Henry’s face, firmly scraping his junk off. It leaves red streaks from how hard Glenn is rubbing. 

Instead of apologizing, Glenn says expectantly, “Better?”

“Yes,” he agrees instantly, and suddenly Glenn sees his son stuffing psychedelic flowers in the Odyssey’s trunk. “Better.”

He puts Henry’s glasses back on his face. He gets a good look at those burning green eyes. It stirs him forward. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, daddy.”

“Good boy. Your turn now.”

Henry can turn it down. He can say no. He can do something. Glenn wants to beg, _don’t make me do this._

But then he shucks off his cargo shorts over his shoes, squatting on the forest floor. 

Glenn pats his lap. “Henry, don’t be ridiculous. Come here.”

It’s the use of his name that draws him over, settling his bare ass in Glenn’s lap. It’s a small price to pay to retain command. He’s bony but comfortable on Glenn’s hard thighs. His fingers scramble to his length and Glenn huffs through his nose. 

“What?”

“Nothing. Go ahead.”

Clearly rattled, Henry tries again. After a few measly strokes he can’t take it.  


“That’s not going to get you hard.”

“I don’t need you to—just let me,” he insists. 

“It’ll take hours at this rate,” he reiterates, “you’re so tense, Hen.”

The head of his length is bright red, straining against his rough strokes. Glenn spits into his palm and cups the underside. 

“S-stop, I can d-d—I can do this,” Henry stutters. 

“No, just let me. It’s going to feel so much better, it’s going to feel so good, Hen, you need to trust me.”

“Henry, I’m... Henry, please.” He’s losing his argument thrusting into Glenn’s tight fist. His other hand strokes his lengthening hair back from his damp forehead. He’s practically cradling him.

“See? Look at that, hard already. You just needed a little help from daddy.”

“I don’t, I can do this by m-my-myself.”

Glenn laughs, deep and warm, chest rumbling against Henry’s back. His own breath swarms him. The sight of Henry squirming has him enchanted. He has to see him cum.

  
Glenn funnels that fury into determination, bringing his fist up and down in quick strokes while his wet thumb worked the head, nail digging into the slit of precum forming at the top.

“There’s nothing wrong with asking for help,” Glenn husks into his ear. It felt good to feel Henry’s shoulders flex. A flinch, a melting into him. 

“I don’t need your help,” Henry says sharply. The venom in his voice gives him pause. In response, Glenn’s hand yanks his chin to the side, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Hush. I know you’re upset, Hen, but that’s no excuse to use that kind of tone with me.”

In the end, though, he keeps going, because he sees Henry’s inner thighs twitch which means he’s getting close, and his bashful gaze falters instead of standing up to Glenn. He looks young, sweet, and kind of sad.

It takes all his strength to wheeze, “Sorry, daddy”, his legs falling a little farther open, his head tipping back, his body going lax. 

“That’s better. Feels good, doesn’t it Hen? If you’d just listen to me—“

“Uh haah, uh uh uh—“

“—that temper wouldn’t keep getting the best of you.”

Henry bites back a retort, groaning loudly through his teeth. His hips cant up in cute little thrusts, eager for Glenn’s pace. 

“I’ve got you,” he croons, “Don’t worry, Hen, I’ve got you. Daddy’s got you—“

The last time Glenn wiped something off someone’s cheek is whenever the last time he got high with Nick was, before they tore through purple space and time. They got breakfast burritos that morning and Nick had a bit of queso clinging his chin and Glenn mockingly cleaned it up with an oil tag from his car. He doesn’t think his dad ever did anything like that. They weren’t that kind of Close.

His dad would go along with something bad, bad, bad without a thought because it would be a contradiction to the status quo. Status quo is chill. Let everything take care of itself and you do what you’ve always been doing. To hell with anyone else. 

  
Henry spurts all over Glenn’s hand.

He rocks him through it, still breathing in sync until the mimicry of their embrace shocks them to the present. Henry falls forward onto his hands and knees.

Glenn looks away.

A distant guilt settles on his chest when Henry starts crying but this isn’t part of the deal, isn’t what they agreed to, and Glenn isn’t a therapist. He’s not going to step into his role. It makes him think and thinking necessitates reflection. Awareness. Accountability.

So he wipes Henry’s cum on his jeans to dry and leaves. 


End file.
